The True Sylvanas
by The True Sylvanas
Summary: The Broken Shore. A bitter, dark corner of Azeroth that holds the last resting place of an Old Wolf. There, the Banshee betrayed the Alliance, and so many heroes had fallen as a result. But what if it had been different? What if, instead, we had seen the True Sylvanas?


**DISCLAIMER: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned any of the characters or settings in the Blizzard gaming universe. I own only the characters I myself have created. All rights go to Blizzard Entertainment and its affiliates.**

**EDITOR'S NOTE: The characters I have created do not reflect my own personal opinions or beliefs; they are merely constructs useful in the telling of this story. I have not created any character for the purpose of inserting myself or any other individual into the story. They are merely characters.**

* * *

It was over.

Their glorious plan, their last stand, their one light in the darkness.

It was all over…

The Burning Legion, scourge of a thousand worlds, destroyers of all, the enemy that had brought pain and darkness down on their home for thousands upon thousands of years. Now, they had returned, and in numbers that hadn't been seen since the great War of the Ancients.

Unlike that war, however, no animal spirits stood with them on this desolate shore. No heroic saviors would be arriving in the eleventh hour, no heroes would come to beat back the enemy forces.

"Do not… Let da Horde…" The Troll whispered, blood already running out of the corner of his mouth. "...Die dis day…"

Sylvanas watched as the light faded from his eyes, the demon's blade still buried deep in his chest. Warchief of the Horde, Vol'jin's reign had already been cut short.

"Death, comes for us all…" Sylvanas whispered through gritted teeth, closing the Troll's eyes with her gloved hand.

Around them, the Burning Legion's troops marched on. The valiant warriors of the Horde had formed a phalanx formation, their battered shields and totems barely slowing the advance of the demonic onslaught. Generals called out to their troops, while the wounded called out for mercy.

Both were drowned out by the feral screeches of the demonic bats above them, their claws reaching ever closer to the Alliance forces below, facing another thousand of the creatures. Through the horror of the battle, Sylvanas' archers fired arrow after arrow, silencing the enemy's air support one shot at a time. Once they controlled the skies, the last Alliance gunship in the field could be brought to bear, her guns sweeping this entire plain clear in a single volley.

But would there be anyone left to celebrate the victory?

Clutching the carved, rune covered horn on her belt, Sylvanas weighed the decision.

Fall back, recover, recuperate their losses. Run, hide, cling to the shadows, rebuild and come back for vengeance.

Vengeance; the thought that had driven her people for so long…

Was it the only way?

Looking down at the dying Troll, Sylvanas tightened her grip on the horn before ripping it free and pressing it to her lips.

Yes, Death comes for us all.

But he'd have to wait in line, today.

With a haunting blast of the horn's magic, the skies opened in pale glory. Clouds parted, and an army of Val'Kyr rained down, sweeping away the demons for a brief moment. Already knowing their mission, they scooped up the dead and dying along with the living, carrying them backwards to the blasted shoreline. There, one last Forsaken warship sat, it's faithful captain waiting for her orders.

"Go! Carry my people to safety!" Sylvanas shouted, catching the attention of the lead Val'kyr. With a nod, the woman soared off into the darkness, her massive greatsword carving a Fel Guard into pieces.

Turning to her Rangers on the edge of the precipice, her eyes narrowed in resolve. Below, the Alliance's position was growing desperate; her archers just couldn't keep up, and the demons showed no signs of stopping.

"My Lady? Are we to retreat?" One woman asked, her hood falling back to reveal the deathly pale locks of blonde hair there. Red eyes were wide with surprise as Sylvanas met her gaze.

"Tell Nathanos…" With a slow breath, she unslung her legendary weapon, the bow that had carried her anger and vengeance across entire worlds, and handed it to the Ranger gently.

"...I'm sorry."

In a heartbeat, the Val'kyr had come to collect Vol'jin and the Rangers, leading them back towards the shore while the demons pressed ever closer. With one final nod to the Ranger captain, Sylvanas turned to the edge of the precipice and tilted her head back, mouth stretched open wide.

A Banshee scream ripped through the air, smoke wrapping around Sylvanas' body, carrying her into the sky as her cry swept aside the swarms of bats.

As her lungs gave out, Sylvanas fell to the ground, her body plummeting the impossible distance before disappearing from sight altogether.

In the blink of an eye, she appeared again, a shining blade plunging into a Fel Guard's chest.

Ripping the steel free and showering the human man in gore, she turned to him with a predatory smile.

"I'm glad the Old Wolf is still with us."

Grimacing in pain, Varian Wrynn wiped the blood from his face and nodded.

"We're not done yet, Banshee."

"Aren't we?" Sylvanas gestured with the sweep of her arm to the battlefield around her. "The Legion presses on, and the Horde has fallen."

Raising an eyebrow, Varian turned to face her with a questioning glance.

"You didn't join them?"

A quick smile formed on her black lips as she answered. "As you said, Old Wolf. We're not done yet."

Letting out a long breath, Varian nodded in agreement. Dodging the sweep of a burning green axe, he slashed back at his attacker as he shouted over his shoulder.

"High Tinker! Call in the gunship, now!"

Cackling in delight, the Gnome in question gleefully pounding an enormous red button as the claw of his mechanical suit tore apart another attacker. Green blood sprayed into the air as an antenna rose out of the creation's back, emitting a powerful pulse of energy.

Breaking through the clouds a heartbeat later, the Alliance gunship brushed aside what Fel Bats remained, her cannons firing wildly and her turbines chewing through the smoke filled air.

"They'll need time to evacuate." Sylvanas pointed out, drawing her second saber. Twirling them both in her deceptively delicate hands, she cut through the throat of a Fel Guard before slashing down and breaking the back of a Fel Hound charging her.

"Then we'll give it to them." Varian said darkly, his own blade carving through the chest of another attacker. A pile was forming at the warriors feet, the blood running in streams into the desecrated ground. Jerking the blade free, he tossed his head to clear the demon blood from his eyes. "Are you with me?"

Sylvanas actually laughed, the sound chilling even the demons still rushing towards her.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Old Wolf."

* * *

Gul'dan was getting nervous. All the power of the Burning Legion at his disposal, and they couldn't slaughter a few mortal interlopers?

An army of soldiers from all corners of Azerother had gathered, and now, all that remained were a few battered, injured champions with as much of their own blood covering their armor as that of Gul'dan's demons.

And still they fought.

Pressing the Horde off of the precipice had been costly, and now, a massive portion of the summoned troops were trapped above the real battlefield, and by the time the mindless mass of demonic flesh managed to figure out how to descend the slopes, the battle would be over one way or the other.

Yes, Gul'dan was nervous. But he couldn't possibly lose…

Could he?

No, it was ridiculous. Even with that flying ship hovering above the shoreline, the Alliance was faltering. As one, they were falling back to her ramps, clinging to the hull for dear life. His demons were pressing them on all sides, and yet…

Two remained in the forefront, their blades slicing through the heart of his troops, quickly building a wall of corpses to cover their flanks.

Two, lone, weak, mortals were standing against the might of Gul'dan's dark master. It was so foolish, he actually laughed at the thought. No, he couldn't lose.

And now to prove it…

* * *

Looking up into the bleak sky, Varian's eyes grew wide at the sight of it.

A portal, leading straight to Hell, and falling through it was a meteor bathed in Fel flame. On its course, it would take the gunship out of the sky and decimate the survivors in one blow.

"Banshee!" Varian shouted, pointing with his bloodied blade to the sky.

Ripping her own sword free, she turned to see what had alerted him, and her own eyes went wide.

"We can't stop something so large!"

"No, but maybe we can turn it!"

Sylvanas struggled to understand what the human was getting at for another moment, and then laughed at the sheer insanity of it.

"Truly, you put Hellscream to shame. I'll get you up there, but the rest is up to you!"

Varian nodded, holding out his hand to the woman eagerly. "I couldn't ask for more."

Taking a deep breath, Sylvanas let loose another Banshee cry. Screaming her pain and suffering out one note at a time, she rose quickly into the sky, an armored king in one hand.

Slicing through the wind and smoke, she dragged Varian higher and higher, finally reaching the edges of the cursed portal just as the meteor emerged from the darkness. Hovering there for a split second, both of the mortals could only stare in awe at the sheer weight of steel falling before them.

With a cry of utter rage and recklessness, Varian launched himself out of Sylvanas' grasp. Sword first, he slammed into the side of the thing, digging into it with all the might of a flea attacking a Clefthoof.

And yet, the thing started to turn.

Cursing under her breath, Sylvanas flew closer to it, her own blackened hands pressing into the flaming steel for all she was worth. Screaming with the effort of it, she pushed against the mass.

Slowly but surely, the meteor drifted off course, heading for the line of freshly summoned demons emerging from the Elven temple where Gul'dan stood. It wouldn't hit the temple itself, but the margin for error would be only a few yards.

As everyone on the shore watched in shock, the meteor crashed into the ground, fel flame erupting into the air. Molten steel and fel sparks oozed out of its wounds, and a would-be Fel Reaver stirred no more.

Panting through gritted teeth, Varian Wrynn rose from the dust, sword in one hand, eyes glazed over and chest heaving. Peering through the gloom, he could see the gunship rise into the air one last time, the Alliance troops successfully stowed on board. He could almost see a faint silhouette of a man leaning against the rail, staring at Wrynn through the smoke and ash.

"Get them home, Genn." Varian spit the words out as he finally rose to his feet. An unsent letter was tucked in his belt, the Royal seal of Stormwind pressed into the wax.

Burying the thought, he turned to see a new form rising from the dust beside him. Black claws ripped into the stone, and a pair of burning red eyes emerged, glaring at him through the haze.

With a wry smile, Wrynn offered the woman a hand, pulling her to her feet next to him.

"We did it. They're safe…" Varian pointed to the fleeing gunship, a surge of pride in his chest.

"Good." Sylvanas' voice had lost its edge, the usual malice and hatred somehow dulled as she stood beside the human. "But before you get any ideas about quitting…"

Turning to face the temple behind them, Sylvanas locked eyes on a hunched over figure, staff in hand and tattered hood in place.

"...I want one last trophy."

What remained of the Legion's forces slowly reassembled themselves, forming lines and squares at Gul'dan's frantic orders. There were still thousands between them and the crippled Orc, with more spilling out of the portal as they watched.

"That might cost us something, Banshee. Are you sure you're ready to pay the price with an Alliance dog?" Varian asked, half serious.

Smiling, Sylvanas shrugged her shoulders amiably. "No, but I suppose I could settle for a mangy wolf. Come, before I change my mind!"

Grasping his sword with both hands, Varian's eyes flashed a brilliant red, and the blade split into two. Holding each half with white knuckles, Varian let loose a battle cry that rivaled that of the Banshee herself.

Swords once again in hand, Sylvanas grinned and joined him, lending her own voice to the cry. As one, they charged forward, steel meeting steel.

And far above the sounds of the battle, Gul'dan's eyes grew wide, a feeling rising in his gut he hadn't felt in years.

In that moment, Gul'dan knew two things.

It was over…

And he was afraid.


End file.
